The Tree
by How-I-Became-The-Sea
Summary: There have only ever been three people in the tower. Two of them died. The first one got over it, but the second is definitely dead. Forever. Right? Might be a oneshot. Rated T only for safety.


**Hi everyone! This may or may not be a oneshot… question mark? Also, can someone tell me if I could pull of a HTTYD/modern day person crossover? I'd make it original. For starters, I'd use a male character instead of a female one, which had literally never been done before. Let me know in the reviews! Oh, and I don't own Tangled or anything. Except Pascal. I own him.**

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There is a place, in a forest yet unnamed, where only three humans have ever tread. A deep ravine, bordered by high cliffs and tumbling waterfalls. The greenery has been left to grow unhindered, and has therefore disguised any entrance to this hidden place. It is a perfect picture of nature, untouched by humanity, and left to take its natural course in peace. That is, except for the vile-looking stone tower, which spirals its way upwards in the center of the ravine.

This tower has stood for a nearly immeasurable amount of time. It is so old as to be considered a natural part of the landscape, and is in fact older than much that surrounds it. Yet in comparison to the ever-standing forest, it seems only recently that the wicked witch, still in her youth, built it by hand. Brick by brick, stone by stone, she worked tirelessly. It seems but days ago that she learned and brewed her most vile potions and spells, which she practiced long into the night. In the mere blink of an eye, she had aged hundreds of years, and had become a story to be told in the candlelight, to the terrified but eager children of the new kingdom.

Yet, had the forest a mind with which to discern its inhabitants, it would have been confused by the witch. For as the forest grew and faded with many passing years, and its cycle of life continued, the witch remained the same. True, some days she would seem slower, more aged, than she had before, but she would quickly return to her youthful state. She had somehow circumvented her inevitable demise. She had disturbed the balance of her own life, and intended to continue doing so.

But the cycle quickly caught up to her, as it always must in the rare cases where mortals manage to hold it at bay. Through her own folly, she was destroyed by the very thing that kept her alive, and cast remorselessly from her tower to dissolve upon the ground.

It seemed the cycle would continue.

But as years passed, and the small traces left behind by the evil woman were wiped clean by time, her presence was still tangible where she had fallen in her final hour. The forest alone could have noticed this, were it able to. Perhaps it did, and attempted to warn the people of the kingdom in vain. But the pleas fell on deaf ears, for the presence of the witch lingered unseen. Until one day.

On that day, a tree was born.

Perhaps I misspeak, for even then, the dark presence was unnoticed. Naturally, in a large, dense forest, a new sapling is hardly an important occurrence. Especially in such a secluded place; where, in fact, no one had returned since the witch's demise.

But, had anyone been there at the time, they would have witnessed the tree age several years in the course of an hour. Falling asleep, perhaps, they would wake to find it many stretches tall. Leaving to inform others of this event, they might return to see it nearly the height of the tower.

But no one was there to see it. No one at all.

No, there was one.

The witch.

She slowly regained her consciousness as her new form grew. Returning from the murky, hellish place her soul had inhabited was a struggle, and it was difficult at first to remember who she was, and what she was doing. When she did, however, all her memories flooded back to her instantly. As well as a reasonable amount of pure rage.

As she calmed, realizing she no longer had a mouth with which to spit vile oaths, she remembered the final spell. She had cast it soon after tying Rapunzel up, when her "daughter" had realized the truth about her past. The witch had then brewed the vile potion, and spoke the words that had bound her for eternity.

The spell, assuming the witch died, would bind her soul to a single living thing. She would feed off the life force of the organism until a more suitable host could be found. Preferably a nice, young human.

The evil woman felt herself growing further, and faster, and would have laughed wickedly, had she a mouth. Her twisted, pure black limbs stretched out. Her knotted trunk became sturdier.

Then, had any poor soul been there to witness it, they would have seen a terrifying darkness begin to seep from the tree. From its very core, wisps of shadow poured out, until the tree was surrounded with a horrifying black aura.

Her work complete, the tree settled, and began to focus her energy on her singular task.

_Come to me, _she whispered, in a voice that was not a voice, with words that were not words.

_Come to me._


End file.
